


hang tough, children

by HenrySinclair



Series: live and die this way [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Racism, Character(s) of Color, Coming of Age, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Season/Series 02, Underage Smoking, that isn't a tag but i mean billy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28757511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HenrySinclair/pseuds/HenrySinclair
Summary: One way or another, Henry Sinclair had made it through most of 1984.Time had passed by easily and he was just another citizen of Hawkins who was happy (or at least content) to live the day-to-day in blissful routine. That was not to say the year was without incident, none ever was, but 1984 was nothing special. No matter what petty problems cropped up or issues that plagued the country as a whole, Hawkins felt settled—stable—just like it had for every year Henry had lived there.With that single, glaring exception.And now, it seemed that 1983 had bled into ’84.
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Original Male Character(s)
Series: live and die this way [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1448278
Comments: 9
Kudos: 37





	1. we're all excited, but we don't know why

_Dearly beloved, we have gathered here today  
To get through this thing called life_

Hawkins was getting cold again.

Actually, it was more accurate to say that it had _been_ getting cold again. After a gloriously hot summer, the past two months or so had been doing their part to remind everyone that sunny weather was very much temporary in Indiana. It wasn’t _really_ bad yet, you could honestly spend more time outside comfortably than you could during some of those peak days in July and August, but there was something in the air. A chill that made sure you knew that these days of lingering warmth were the very last you’d feel for a good long while.

The wind blowing through the car was a testament to that; just warm enough to be pleasant, but still a cool reminder that it would soon turn biting.

The person in the driver’s seat of the 1976 Oldsmobile Cutlass wouldn’t yet heed its warning though, and instead music softly flowed out of the open windows, just barely audible to the people who hustled past to their own cars. Although they probably caught a lyric or two, they were all in far too much of a hurry to spare a moment of their attention for the young man who’d turned the radio on in the first place.

They probably should have.

If they _had_ looked, if someone _had_ stopped focusing so hard on things that probably didn’t really matter—like the proper way to ask your girlfriend for help on college entrance essays—and caught sight of the young man sitting in his car only a few spots away, it would’ve stopped them in their tracks. One look was all it needed, because it would’ve been impossible to _not_ take a second.

The sun had already begun to lower in the sky by the time the bell had rang, and it bathed the town in golden rays that truly made everything look just a little bit more beautiful. But, just like when it caught on the stunning colors trees turned this time of year, the midafternoon light had the tendency to enhance what that was there to start with.

That is all to say, he always looked good—dark skin, deep eyes, and a smile that made anyone who’d seen it fall just a little bit in love—but right now, underneath the autumn sun, there was something special. What was always present was just a tad easier to see on the surface.

Henry Sinclair might dislike Hawkins getting cold, but he certainly was a sight to behold in the fall.

There was always something notable there, something anyone could see if they really wanted to. Even in the busy halls of the high school, or just sitting in his living room, he stood apart from everyone around him. It wasn’t just looks (although those were far from lacking), but it wasn’t as easily identifiable as personality. Sure, if someone said it was his character that made Henry Sinclair worth mentioning, they wouldn’t be wrong, but they wouldn’t be completely right either. It was more than that, deeper, harder for people to understand.

But, whatever it was, he had it even now; twisted up like a pretzel in the front seat of the Cutlass on a Monday afternoon like any other.

A book lay open on his lap, but Henry was hardly even skimming it. He was _supposed_ to be studying it for different literary devices, but his heart was far from in it. He’d had a restless night and all day his mind had been somewhere else because of it. He was tired, and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t quite remember his dreams. He occasionally got random flashes and details, nothing really concrete, but he knew that the bad ones had been _bad,_ and the not-bad ones had still been peculiar. At the very best, they’d only been good in the moment, and when he’d wake in the middle of the night, he was left feeling strange and empty as he fought to go back to sleep.

But, he’d had quite a few of these types of nights in the past year. Around once a month, his dreams would leave behind odd feelings but nothing else. And, even more than that he’d have vivid ones that ended with him jerking awake; his breath short and his heart pounding—no mercy from the sharp memory of both reality and the dream. But, those awful ones that made him sick to his stomach, he _understood_ those. He understood why he got them, he understood where they came from.

What he didn’t understand was why he’d been exhausted by incomprehensible dreams for the past _three days_.

They were never this common, and _never_ any in a row, but here he was; suffering from a lack of good sleep for almost half a week. Unable to focus on anything the way he should, zoned out in class and at the dinner table, his mind preoccupied with things he couldn’t even remember. It was a pretty lackluster explanation for his drifting concentration, so it was a good thing people never really noticed.

_“Here, man. You were like, practically asleep in English.”_

Henry unconsciously slouched down in his seat and he felt his face heat up even though he’d really like to pretend that it didn’t. Suddenly, the book in his lap was more than captivating, and he focused all of his attention on it. If he filled his mind with old literature, there wouldn’t be any space left for memories from a few hours ago. No room for the unrequested coffee delivered to the darkroom, or the funny look Jonathan had given him once it was just the two of them again, or how Nancy had definitely _not_ had anything brought to her from somewhere off school grounds for lunch, or how S—

Witches. Three Witches. He’d already read this part _and_ he already knew the story just fine, but he’d hardly been paying attention the first time around and he kind of needed to be able to actually analyze the text, so let’s try it again. Let’s _really_ read this, let’s find the foreshadowing and whatever else Shakespeare had worked into here. Forget about the coffee, forget about the person who brought it, forget about how that had made him feel, and most of all, forget about how underneath everything there was _still_ a strange feeling lingering in his stomach.

_By the pricking of my thumbs,  
something wicked this way comes_

“Hi.”

Henry’s heart skipped a beat when the Cutlass passenger door flung open and he was hit with a cold gust of wind, but he was quick to recover, and he mentally chastised himself for getting scared in the first place. It was pretty silly to be startled by something he’d known was coming. Maybe the atmosphere Shakespeare had built was actually a bit more immersive than he’d expected.

“Hey, Bud,” he said casually, as if his pulse hadn’t just stuttered, “All good?”

“Yeah,” Will replied, and his small smile was all Henry needed.

He shut his copy of Macbeth with a snap and threw it over his shoulder into the backseat (not the nicest way to treat a book, but frankly he didn’t care) before he unfolded his legs and straightened out into what most people would describe as the “correct” way to sit in the driver’s seat. Henry was quick to back out of the spot, and in the few moments it took to navigate through the parking lot to the main road, Will fiddled with the radio and the Cutlass flooded with the song that had been softly playing moments ago.

Henry’s smile grew into that special one—the one Will could inspire, no matter what—but he said nothing, and instead allowed Prince to offer a soundtrack to the familiar sight of Hawkins speeding past.

_Are we gonna let de-elevator bring us down?  
Oh, no let’s go!_

-.

One way or another, Henry had made it through most of 1984.

Time had passed by easily and he was just another citizen of Hawkins who was happy (or at least content) to live the day-to-day in blissful routine. He shared dinners with his family, did homework, hung out with his friends, fixed his car, and babysat all the way to the last few months of the year.

That was not to say the year was without incident, none ever was, but 1984 was nothing special. No matter what petty problems cropped up or issues that plagued the country as a whole, Hawkins felt settled—stable—just like it had for every year Henry had lived there.

With that single, glaring exception.

He tried not to think about it too much.

Not that he _ignored_ it. He didn’t. He just didn’t see much of a point of reflecting on it anymore. He’d done his fair share of it at the end of last year and the beginning of this one—he’d thought long and hard about what he’d experienced, what _all_ of them had gone through, and he didn’t need to anymore. He wasn’t like Nancy, still caught on it even though she pretended like she wasn’t.

Things had changed, maybe not healed, but altered. The memories of those nights were still clear—the feelings still present—but they weren’t intrusive. They didn’t force their way into his mind the way they used to, not all the time. Not every night.

Not even Barb.

Thinking that name still made his chest ache, but it wasn’t like it had been. It didn’t shake him to his core, it didn’t block out the world around him, it didn’t… it didn’t hurt like it had before. She was there, in his mind, and she always would be. No matter how the pain dulled, he’d never be completely free of it, he didn’t think he even wanted to be, but it was different now. Partially because of time, because the way she looked—the way she _was_ —had faded in his mind, everything had begun to fade. And the rest was…

He tried not to think about it too much.

A part of him wished the events of last November had stayed there. That the only aftermath of it had been in their own minds. But, he knew that was too much to ask for, that what had happened was too big to not cause ripples. There was always going to be these aftershocks to everyone it had touched, even the ones who hadn’t been there. Maybe especially them.

And… even if it could be that way—even if he could have it so that nothing had changed—he didn’t think he’d want it. He wouldn’t want things to go back to the way they were.

He knew that the only reason he got to have friends to spend time with, or a kid he really did care about, or… or horrible glares and harsh cold words flung on his behalf was because of what happened.

That’s why he didn’t think about it more than he had to. The evidence of last November was already painted onto every aspect of his life, and there was no escaping it, so why pay it any mind? Instead he shared dinners with his family, and did homework, and hung out with his friends, and fixed his car, and babysat, and _grew_ all while never giving that time, that _place,_ anymore thought than he had to. The shadow cast over everything in his life, but he wouldn’t let it consume it—wouldn’t let it consume _him—_ even on the days it felt like that was all it wanted.

1983 had bled into ’84, but Henry refused to give it any more than what it already had.

.-

As Prince’s high energy transitioned into The Police’s moodier tone, Henry turned the volume down a little and let _Every Breath You Take_ fade to the background. They were already well on their way home by now—it never took long to get anywhere in this town—and Henry briefly looked away from the familiar sights to the kid in the passenger seat.

Will hadn’t said much today, just stared out the window with a contemplative expression, and Henry knew that could go either way. He could just be in a quiet mood or… or it could not be that. Sometimes, he could tell just by looking at him that it was a bad one, that he’d need to step up or else things would only get worse. But, on other days there was really no way of knowing just from observing the kid. Didn’t matter how well you knew him, Will could be inscrutable. And, on days like today, the only thing to do was ask, and accept that the response might be a lie.

Henry knew it wouldn’t be, though—

His thumb lifting off the wheel before landing solidly back on it was enough to rise above the sound of the wheels on the pavement and the soft melody flowing from the radio. He did it three times, each holding on the wheel for a moment before lifting back up, before he stopped. Then, he began again, this time with one solid, then a quick tap—lifting off of the wheel before even a half of a second had passed—and another solid. He paused briefly, and then after two taps-two solid-two taps, the car became quiet once again, and stayed that way for a long moment.

There was a sort of stillness now that only happens when someone is holding their breath in anticipation, and Henry felt the first curls of anxiety unfolding in his stomach. Silence meant one thing, and he dreaded having to face it, even though he knew he’d do it without hesitation. But, before his nerves could begin to choke him, the sound of knuckles against the car door seemed to echo, firm and definitive;

Solid-solid-solid, solid-tap-solid.

—Will never lied in Morse Code.

“I don’t have any math homework today,” Will said, switching to spoken language with no mention of how they’d just been communicating without saying a word, “I think Mr. Davis forgot to assign it.”

“Nice,” Henry replied, sharing a smile with Will—they’d long ago agreed that math was the worst subject, second only to gym, but that easy expression wasn’t just because of the lack of homework. It was always a relief to know that he was doing alright

“How was your day?” Will asked, sweet as always.

“Fine,” Henry said instead of anything that might be weighing on him, “I had lunch with your brother in the darkroom.”

“Nancy and Steve being annoying again?”

Henry’s brows raised at those particularly quick words, and he glanced over to find that Will was already looking at him with a glint in his eye—the one that Henry had learned over the past year meant that Will knew _exactly_ what he was saying, even if he played innocent. The kid was funny like that.

“They’re not _annoying,”_ Henry said, reaching over to smack him (gently, but not _too_ gently) on the arm, “Where did you get that from?”

“You said that they keep cuddling and kissing and—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Henry cut him off, because he knew that Will would just _keep going_ if he let him, even though he’d more than proved his point, “And, _no._ It wasn’t because Steve and Nancy were being _annoying._ I just wanted to hang out with Jonathan today.”

“Did you take a nap?” Will asked, tilting his head a little, “Jonathan says you use him as an excuse to take naps in the darkroom.”

“He says _what?”_ Henry replied, scandalized. Will just shrugged in response—he knew that he wasn’t really looking for an answer—but there was a hint of smile pulling at his lips now, like he couldn’t quite help himself. Henry, in turn, huffed a little bit, “Well, I didn’t take a nap… I couldn’t fall asleep.”

That was all it took to destroy any composure he was holding onto, and the car was filled with the sounds of Will’s giggles and Sting singing gentle threats of loving possession.

-.

By the time they reached the Byers’ home, Will had picked up some speed. He was telling a story about a serious disagreement that had happened this afternoon between the AV club, which honestly sounded like Dustin and Lucas had just got into an argument over which _Star Wars_ movie was the best, but Henry didn’t mention it. It was always nice to hear Will get comfortable, but it was especially appreciated today; Henry didn’t really feel up to carrying a conversation.

Instead, he let Will go uninterrupted as the pair got out of the car and headed into the house. It was quiet inside—despite Will’s best attempts—but Henry was used to it. It was always like this when they got home, it would’ve been more concerning if it hadn’t been, actually; they were the only ones here, and would be for a while.

“You want a snack?” Henry asked as they shed their bags and coats, already mentally running through the stuff he knew were in the cupboards that would tide Will over until dinner.

“Nah,” Will replied, sitting down at the kitchen table and digging into his backpack, “I can still go to the arcade later, right?”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” Henry said, frowning a little despite what he said, “Make sure you finish your homework now, then.”

“Right,” Will said, already half-focused on whatever he brought out of his bag, and Henry let him be. If the kid was determined to do his work, then he wouldn’t distract him. Besides, he had his own stuff for class.

Henry plopped down in the seat across from Will and pulled out his copy of Macbeth, trying to convince himself he’d actually get somewhere this time—that he wouldn’t just get distracted by his own thoughts again.

He just wasn’t sure how he’d managed to forget about the arcade trip, was all. He’d spent the past week hammering out all the details with Joyce (reassuring her that it would be okay, mostly) and listening to Lucas gripe about having to work for quarters to spend there, how could he have just forgotten it so completely?

It must be because of the lack of sleep. That was really the only answer that made sense; his drowsiness had caused him to let a couple of things slip. That was ordinary, honestly. Your brain not working super well when you’re tired is like, the most average thing ever. He just needed to catch some extra hours tonight and he’d be back to normal. There was _nothing_ to worry about.

Why didn’t he believe that?

It was a perfectly reasonable explanation for his own behavior, but he just couldn’t get himself to accept that and move on. He still felt unreasonably anxious and… and something else. Something similar to that awful discomfort he was accustomed to, but different enough that he couldn’t ignore that it was not the same. Something he couldn’t put a name to, even though he was absolutely certain he’d felt it before.

Why? Why was that simple answer not enough to set his mind at ease? Why did this horrible feeling still settle in his chest? Why couldn’t he classify it? Why—

Why was this room so _goddamn cold?_

Henry was brought out of his thoughts with a shiver and suddenly all of those worries were pushed away in favor of the far more pressing, physical concern. He crossed his arms, even though it didn’t do nearly as much as he needed, and instinctually looked up at the kid sitting across from him.

“Are you cold?” Henry asked, honestly a little surprised he couldn’t see his breath curl in the air.

“Mmm, no,” Will replied, not looking up from his homework and missing the frown on Henry’s face when he said that.

Henry couldn’t grasp how _anyone_ wouldn’t be cold right now, let alone a tiny kid like Will. But, if he was saying he wasn’t, then he couldn’t exactly justify cranking up the thermostat. He never touched it anyway, couldn’t bring himself to do it when he wasn’t the one paying the—

Oh, that was probably it. The Byers must not be doing so good right now. That would explain why Will said he wasn’t cold; even if Joyce tried to shield him from their problems, fiscal or otherwise, the kid was perceptive and would always try to help his mom. Even if it was just by pretending something didn’t bother him when it did. It was something that Jonathan did—Henry knew the things he muttered under his breath about Bob Newby in the darkroom weren’t things he said where his mother could hear them—and Will had definitely picked it up at some point. That was what this was now; the Byers boys’ inclination to cover up their own discomfort to make their mom happy.

God, why didn’t he believe that either?

Lost in his thoughts, Henry barely heard the sound of Will’s pencil thudding against the table, even though in comparison to the silence that they’d been drowning in not moments before it was deafening. But, even though he paid it no real attention, his mind unconsciously followed the rhythm that echoed in the quiet house.

Solid-solid-solid, solid-tap-solid, tap-tap-solid-solid-tap-tap.

Henry looked up from the book he wasn’t reading—half expecting to see him still glued to his science worksheet—but instead he found that Will was already looking at him, and he felt his throat close up a little as he saw genuine concern in his eyes. He always felt that way when he realized that Will was worrying about him; didn’t seem right for any kid, let alone _this one,_ to do that.

It was easy to ignore the cold on his skin and the odd feeling in his stomach now, and when Henry smiled, it was only a little fake.

“I just didn’t sleep so good last night, bud,” he replied, forgoing Morse Code, “Weird dreams.”

“Like what?” Will asked, and Henry could tell that curiosity was already beginning to outweigh anything else. That was exactly what he wanted—for Will to be too preoccupied with something else to worry—but he wasn’t sure he could keep it up. He never remembered much from these dreams other than that they were bizarre, but he still racked his brain hoping to find something to offer Will; he did seem to be sincerely interested, after all.

And maybe the spark in Will’s eyes was a little _too_ much so, but Henry didn’t notice.

“I think…” he started slowly, grasping at straws before he found that he could grab a hold of one, tenuous memory—completely lacking context, but there just the same, “Maybe at some point I had a kid?”

“What?” Will replied, his nose scrunching a little as he laughed, “Like a baby?”

“No, no, like around your age,” Henry said, brow furrowed as he tried to find anything else leftover from that dream, before he was finally forced to just let it go; he guessed the details didn’t really matter, “I don’t really remember much about it, though.”

“That’s weird,” Will said, laughing a little at an idea he clearly thought was ridiculous, “Why would you dream about that?”

Henry didn’t reply this time, just shrugged and smiled along, like his hand wasn’t sliding into his pocket underneath the table. His fingers found a jumble of keys before they brushed against what he was searching for; woven string with a tassel at the end, a strong contrast to the harsh metal that surrounded it. He didn’t take it out, he didn’t have to. He’d seen this handmade keychain every day since it’d been given to him nearly four months ago, in this very kitchen, on the day before his birthday.

And, yeah, the kid in his dream was nothing like any that he knew in real life (he might not remember much, but he knew that), but he didn’t think that really mattered. He knew that the subconscious worked in strange ways and…

He had a suspicion about why his brain had created him at all.

-.

The twirling sign advertising the arcade stuck out starkly against the night sky, but Henry didn’t really need it; he’d driven the boys to the Palace enough times that he knew exactly where to turn for the parking lot, even in the dark.

It’d been a pretty casual night for the pair of them, with grilled cheeses for dinner and help with history homework, but it’d been obvious that Will was just waiting for the clock to hit 6:45 so they could finally leave. Henry didn’t take it personally; he knew it wasn’t like Will was rushing to get away from him. Hanging out at an arcade with your friends was always going to win over a normal night in with your guardian, especially since they’d spent many together doing just that.

Henry could sense how Will’s rising excitement was reaching a peak when they pulled up beside the three boys loitering outside, and going off of the small smile he himself wore, it was infectious. The boys on the sidewalk all waved and shouted different greetings when they saw them, and Will perked up in his seat—reaching for the door handle without a thought other than joining his friends.

“Will,” Henry said, regretting that he had to spoil his happiness even just a little bit, but knowing he had to be responsible, “Your mom is going to pick you up at nine, so please be ready to go because she might blame me if you’re not and she kind of scares me.”

“Okay,” Will replied, and it wasn’t clear if his wide smile and bright eyes were because of the joke or the excitement that was welling up inside him.

“And she wants me to remind you that if you feel weird or anything is wrong, that you can ask them for their phone and call her at work or Jonathan at his,” Henry finished the spiel that Joyce had given him, before he tilted his head a little to the side and spoke again, and this time it came purely from him, “Or, you can call my house, I’ll come get you.”

“Okay, Okay,” Will said, and Henry could tell that he was forcing himself to not rush out of the car to join his friends, “Bye, Henry.”

“Bye, Will. See you later!” Henry replied, having to call after him as he hopped out of his seat, and a small smile grew on his face as he watched him run up the others. Even though he couldn’t really hear them, he could see the boys eagerly greeting Will, telling him about something or another, before they looked back to the car and waved.

Henry smiled fully now and waved back—laughing a little when he just barely caught Dustin yelling something about how tonight would be the night he kicked Lucas’s ass at _Dragon’s Lair—_ before they turned and headed inside.

They were good boys, Henry thought as he put the car in drive and started to exit the parking lot, they really were.

A shiver ran up his spine.

The cold that he’d managed to put out of his mind made itself known once again.

It had been lurking at the edges of his mind all night. It had never really left, just like that awful feeling in his stomach, but why would it have? Just because he’d been distracted for a little while? Because he’d pushed it down as far as he could? This wasn’t some general anxiety that he always seemed to suffer from, the kind that could be ignored. This was different. This was something… something not entirely new, but also not something he’d felt in a while. Something that settled inside and refused to let him be. Something that had started brewing three days ago, when he’d suffered from the first in this succession of restless nights.

Or maybe… maybe not.

Maybe he only _noticed_ it three days ago.

Maybe this had been around a lot longer, in the back of his mind, dormant.

Henry reached over into the glove compartment without thinking, not even taking his eyes off the road to fish out what he was looking for. He’d been doing better lately, went a whole two weeks without one at the beginning of the month, but cutting back was the last thing on his mind right now. Instead, he lit it without even giving a second thought to curbing his cigarette intake—a hint of relief flowing through his veins as the smoke curled in his lungs.

Not nearly enough, though.

Henry forcefully sighed before reaching forward to turn the radio dial with a little more severity than what was strictly necessary; skimming through the stations fast enough that it was clear that this wasn’t really about finding something to listen to.

He had to stop doing this, he had to stop convincing himself that something was wrong. He was just an anxious person and sometimes things felt bad when they really weren’t. Everything was fine, it was his own brain freaking him out, like it always did. This wasn’t anything new, just the same old nervous-wreck Henry who needed tobacco to keep himself from losing his damn mind. Just because that wasn’t working so good right now didn’t mean that this was anything different. Because it _wasn’t._ It _wasn’t_ different. There was nothing to worry about, nothing headed this way, _nothing c—_

Henry finally caught a station playing a song he liked—the end, to be precise—and even though the windows were rolled up and the heat was blasting, a chill swept over his skin and sunk into his bones. As the familiar lyrics played, sung by a voice that usually brought him so much comfort, the biting cold clung to the back of his neck like some sort of awful parasite, sucking everything warm out of him, and... And Henry…

Henry realized what that awful feeling in his stomach was.

Foreboding.

_Hang tough, children  
He's coming_


	2. just another day (when people wake from dreams with voices in their ears that will not go away)

Breakfast at the Sinclairs’ was always a somewhat subdued affair, but the quiet conversation this morning almost seemed muffled to Henry’s ear.

He didn’t register half of what his parents and siblings were murmuring about around him, and instead just moved the food around on his plate without even really seeing it. He didn’t have much of an appetite—probably would’ve passed on breakfast altogether if his mom hadn’t had it ready when he came down the stairs this morning—and so far he’d only managed to convince himself to swallow a bite or two. He felt heavy, and his head was sluggish and cloudy; unable to get going no matter how hard he tried.

He hadn’t slept so good last night.

He’d thought, _hoped,_ that sheer exhaustion would knock him out and he’d finally get a solid eight hours, but that was apparently a pipe dream. Instead, he suffered through his fourth successive restless night and here he was: more tired than ever.

“So, Henry, will you be gracing us with your presence tonight or are you all booked up?”

That was just enough to wake him out of his trance, and Henry lifted his eyes from his plate to land on his father, who’d delivered that sarcastic line without even glancing up from his paper. He didn’t have it in him to work up the energy that it would take to arrange his features into something annoyed, and instead just looked at his dad with a blank expression before he dropped his attention back down to his breakfast and stabbed his eggs with a little more force than necessary.

“Well, I’m going to help Jonathan with a photography project after class,” Henry said, having found the words he needed split-seconds before he uttered them, “But, I’ll be home for dinner.”

“Let him be, Charles,” Judith interjected, leaning over to gently pat her son’s cheek, “It’s not his fault that people love him so much. He takes more after me than you.”

That was enough to coax a genuine smile out of Henry—even if it was tired—and he met his mother’s eye in time to see the sparkle that shined in them. His father snorted in response, but it was a familiar, indulgent sound that Henry had heard directed at his mom more than enough times to know that she’d amused him more than anything else.

“Didn’t you help Jonathan with his pictures last week?” Erica asked, and Henry looked across the table to find his little sister levelling him with a suspicious glare. It shouldn’t have surprised him that Erica noticed something like that—she’d always been an observant kid—but he still tensed up a little.

“Yeah?” He replied, shrugging in a sort of forced-casual way, “He likes photography.”

“Hm,” Erica hummed, not seeming particularly convinced but dropping it just the same; sisters pried and suspected, but they didn’t narc.

“Glad we went through all that trouble to get the Colts,” Charles muttered sarcastically with his eyes undoubtedly glued to the sport’s section, and Judith replied with something that was enough to get some sort of conversation going, but Henry didn’t really hear it.

He was happy the attention was off of him (the first time in his life he’d ever been happy football had been brought up), but now that he didn’t need to be completely checked into what was happening around him, he felt himself slipping back into half-asleep fuzziness. Henry sighed a little before he pushed his chair out from the table and made his way over to the garbage with his plate; trying to force down some food was a lost cause anyway.

“Henry?” Lucas’s voice was hesitant, but enough to pull his brother back to the present and Henry glanced over his shoulder to let him know that he was listening, “Do you know anyone called MadMax?”

“Like, the movie?” Henry replied as he put his dishes in the sink, frowning when Lucas nodded a little, “I don’t think so, no. Why?”

“Someone named MadMax beat Dustin’s high score on DigDug and Centipede,” Lucas explained, Henry nodding a little; he didn’t personally care at all about arcade games, but he knew how important they were to the boys—to lose top spot was a major blow, especially if it was to someone not in the party.

“Maybe instead of finding MadMax you could try to find a girl willing to talk to you.”

_“Erica.”_

Henry turned in time to see his mother level an admonishing look on his sister as his brother glared daggers at her, all while his father lifted the newspaper just a little bit higher to cover what was undoubtedly an irrepressible smile.

And, for a brief second, the image seemed to be frozen in place, like a painting hanging on someone’s wall. It could’ve been one of the pictures that Jonathan took; he loved to capture normal life like this and “show people for who they really are.” Henry had always thought that was a little pretentious (still kind of did), but he could see it now. He could see how this moment reflected who they always were, and it…

It made his chest ache.

The dull pain that flooded his system caught him off guard, but that was because it had come at him unexpectedly, not because it was new. He recognized this. He’d felt it just a few hours ago, when he’d jerked awake in his bed from a dream he couldn’t even remember. This was the feeling that had been plaguing him for the past four nights, only now it had found him during the day. An emptiness in him that he’d never noticed before, but had been there the whole time.

A part of him wanted to say something, anything, to end this moment. To break whatever spell had come over him, and leave this awful feeling behind. But, he was certain that anything he said would only serve as a temporary fix for a problem he didn’t fully understand.

So instead he let them be, let the familiar scene continue in its simplicity, and while his family was preoccupied with each other, he slipped out of the kitchen. His bag, jacket, and boots were waiting for him in the front hall, and it was a quick thing to get them on and head out the door.

He doubted anyone had noticed he’d left the room by the time he was pulling out of the driveway.

-.

Henry looked down at his watch and sighed a little; having no choice but to grudgingly accept what he’d done to himself.

He hadn’t considered that a hasty exit would mean arriving at school a little bit earlier than he’d prefer. There were already quite a few people here so it wasn’t like he was hours ahead of schedule or anything, but he was off today and the smallest inconvenience felt impossibly difficult. Usually he’d just spend this time in his car listening to music and maybe catching up on anything he’d gotten behind on, but today he felt restless. He doubted he’d be able to manage that for more than a few minutes, and so instead he just admitted to himself that he’d be spending his morning drifting the halls of Hawkins’ High rather than in the comfort of the Cutlass.

By the time he made it to his locker, there were plenty of people around, but none of them seemed to be in much of a hurry to get to class just yet. And even though he took his time just like everyone else, Henry was shutting the door with a clang a little sooner than he wished, and he sighed for no discernable reason other than the fact that he was already tired of a day that hadn’t even started.

“Henry!”

The sudden exclamation of his name broke him out of his weary thoughts and he looked up to see Principal Baker making a beeline for him. For a brief moment he worried that something was wrong—that he was about to get in trouble—but he was quick to disregard that thought. She was smiling (maybe a little strained, but still there) and to her left there was a boy that he’d never seen before.

Henry thought he should be handsome.

He had dark blonde curls cut into a mullet and more hair on his face than most boys at Hawkins High could manage, with a fashionable ruggedness that Henry suspected reflected his personality. Bad boy, his mind offered as a stereotype; not something that had ever particularly caught his attention, but also a type of boy he understood the appeal of. Even if he himself didn’t find someone attractive, he could usually tell where other people might find it, and he knew that people thought this guy was good looking—the looks and whispers from the girls in the hall around them were more than enough evidence of that—but…

There was something about him, maybe it was the sour expression on his face or the way Henry’s stomach had twisted when he first laid eyes on him, that was—

God, he was the ugliest person Henry had ever seen.

“This is Billy Hargrove, he’ll be joining us here for the rest of the year,” Principal Baker said, completely unaware of the thoughts that were tumbling in his mind as she made this introduction, “Billy, Henry Sinclair.”

“Nice to meet you,” Henry said, remembering his manners and sticking his hand out despite his misgivings. Billy glared down at the outstretched hand for a few seconds before he looked away—an awkward moment of silence passing before Henry retracted what he’d offered.

“So,” Baker interjected instead of commenting on it, with the forced upbeat tone of a woman who worked with teenagers all day, “I was wondering if you’d mind helping Mr. Hargrove find his classes and answer any questions he might have about the school.”

“Um,” Henry started hesitantly, but before he could think of some way to wiggle out of this, he caught sight of something a little desperate in the principal’s expression and he couldn’t help but give in, “Yeah, sure.”

“Great, knew I could count on you, Henry,” Baker said, palpable relief in her voice before she turned back to Billy and things became forced again, “If you need anything, don’t be afraid to come ask. Anyone at the front desk would be happy to help.”

Henry offered a small smile for Baker (happy that he’d at least gotten some favor with the principal, especially since he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his eyes open during class today) but didn’t say anything else before she abandoned him with the new kid. For a moment it was quiet, before Henry worked up whatever energy he had left to give the guy who’d already rebuffed him a friendly smile.

“So, where’re you from?” He asked, a softball question to be sure, but one he doubted would cause any problems.

“I don’t need your help.”

Before he could respond (and tell him that was fine, he’d been planning on letting him go off on his own if he wanted to), Billy gave him an awful look that stole the words out of his mouth.

Henry wasn’t particularly surprised when he stalked past him, but he was in no way prepared for when Billy shoulder-checked him, and he stumbled back a few steps before he managed to plant his feet solidly on the ground again.

For a moment, Henry was frozen in the spot where he’d found his footing; his brain stalling as it tried to process what had just happened. Finally, he readjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder and, for lack of anything better occurring to him, headed in the direction of his first class.

What was _that_?

Henry doubted he’d ever had someone act like _that_ when they’d first met. After a conversation or two he’d understand, although even that would be surprising because he could usually get along with anyone, even if he had to be fake to do it. But, they hadn’t even _spoken_ when he’d refused to shake his hand. There wasn’t a reason for Billy to have a problem with him, it was like he’d taken one look at him and—

Maybe that was just what he was like with everybody. That would explain it, he was just mean and hateful to anyone and Principal Baker had just set Henry in his line of fire. She’d certainly had a look on her face like this kid wasn’t one she was looking forward to having in her school, so that was probably it. He almost definitely would’ve blown off anybody who’d been tasked with showing him around and shoved past them and acted hostile and—and—

Henry just wasn’t sure he would’ve given anybody else such an awful look.

A horrible heat spread from the back of his neck to his face, and his stomach twisted and turned in a way that, while wasn’t unfamiliar, wasn’t the _usual_ feeling. This wasn’t anxiety, not really, this was something else. Something uglier. 

The classroom was less than a third of the way full, but Henry didn’t pay any mind to the students that were already there and instead silently slid into his own seat; halfway between the front of the room and the back, but off to the side. He’d chosen this spot because it was perfect for paying attention to class and learning, or completely checking out and not hearing a single thing the teacher said. He guessed today would be one of the latter; even if he didn’t have that odd and uncomfortable interaction on his mind, he was still very tired.

He dug in his backpack for his notebook (he could _pretend_ like he was going to listen) while his mind wandered. Maybe everything that had happened with Billy Hargrove wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d gotten enough sleep last night. Maybe his tired brain was just exaggerating things. Maybe—Maybe—

Maybe he was just coming up with excuses.

Henry sighed and buried his face in his hands. Either way, he really did need more rest, but he had no way of knowing that if he took a nap it wouldn’t just end up like the past four nights. That it wouldn’t be restless, filled with dreams he couldn’t remember, and leave him feeling more exhausted than when he’d started.

God, what was going on with him? It was getting to the point that he was concerned; he was worried that something was wrong with him. That this wouldn’t get better on its own, or maybe even get _worse._ He needed to tell someone, but who—

No sooner did that question pop into his head did the answer appear alongside it, and he felt a little silly for even wondering in the first place. He’d try to talk about it when he saw him, and then at least he’d have told someone if he ended up fully losing his mind.

“Hey.”

Henry was pulled from his thoughts by the casual greeting and he managed a smile for the teenage boy that had just entered the classroom before he sat down at the desk in front of him; a spot that he’d chosen because, well, Henry wasn’t entirely certain why he’d picked that place to sit, because he couldn’t think of any reason other than the fact that it was right by—

No, no, no, he wasn’t doing this right now. He wasn’t going over this _again._

Steve sitting by him didn’t mean a damn thing.

It was normal to sit by someone you knew, especially since Steve would turn to ask him what something meant nearly every day (seriously, had he not paid attention to a single English class the entire time he was in school?). Besides, they were friends, friends sat by each other, it would’ve been weirder if he’d sat on the other side of the room. Just like it would be weirder if he _didn’t_ pick him whenever the teacher told everyone to pair up. That’s just what friends did, they did stuff together, because they were _friends._

Steve turned halfway around in his seat and there was no denying the way Henry’s heart rate picked up the moment they made eye contact.

Stupid Steve, with his stupid hair.

“Did you see the new kid?” He asked, and Henry felt something in him cool a little at the question, even though he knew that Steve didn’t mean anything by it. He always made conversation like this before class, usually about whatever petty things were happening around the school, so it shouldn’t have even been surprising that he’d brought this up. A new kid was exactly the type of thing Steve would want to (for lack of a better word) gossip about, and usually Henry was right there with him. But, he just couldn’t find it in himself to be his usual, chatty self right now. Especially not about this.

“Uh, yeah, Baker asked me to show him around, actually,” Henry said, fighting to keep his tone even, but knowing it was a losing battle.

“Really?” Steve said, leaning a little closer now, and even though he was still feeling off because of the topic of conversation, Henry felt his heart beat just a little bit harder, “What’s he like?”

“Um, I don’t really know,” he offered, “He blew me off the second she left.”

“Oh,” Steve said, frowning a little now.

“Yeah,” Henry replied, his voice lowering to a murmur, “He was kind of a dick.”

“Oh, well then fuck him,” Steve said casually, without even a second of hesitation, as he turned forward in his seat again.

Henry looked down at his desk, even though he knew that Steve was facing away and couldn’t see the small smile that forced its way onto his face; the one that wouldn’t go away even after he rolled his eyes at himself.

You would think he’d be past this by now.

“Hey, Henry?”

Henry looked up to find that Steve had turned around to face him fully now and was looking at him intently—the way that usually made him seize up a little. But, his attention was diverted by the serious expression on his face, and it suddenly became very clear that Steve had shifted away from meaningless gossip and to something else. Henry felt his stomach twist with nerves instinctually at that look, but he tried to ignore it; Steve had strange priorities sometimes, so maybe this was something stupid.

“Nancy and I are going to dinner with the Hollands tonight.”

Oh.

Henry dropped his eyes back down to his notebook, not wanting Steve to see the emotions that flashed in them, and there was a beat of silence that lasted a little too long before he replied.

“That’s nice,” he said, his voice neutral. Steve sighed, but he didn’t look up to see.

“Listen, I _told_ Nancy that it was a bad idea, that you’d—”

“Steve,” Henry interrupted with a bite to his voice that hadn’t been there before, and he raised his eyes to meet his again, although they lacked the soft camaraderie that had been so apparent in them earlier, “We don’t need to talk about this. Do whatever you want.”

The two teenagers held each other gazes for a moment, neither one saying a word; Henry daring him to do anything other than drop it, while knowing Steve was considering whether or not he should push. Steve didn’t want to accept what he’d said, that much was clear, and even though Henry was still barely suppressing his ire and didn’t want him to keep this going, there was something in him that fluttered at the idea that Steve cared this much about stuff to do with him. Or maybe it was just because he was silently looking into his eyes—that had a way of throwing a guy off.

Henry wasn’t certain which way Steve was going to go, force him to keep talking about this or back off, but it would turn out he wouldn’t really get a choice in the matter; their teacher began to quiet the class down and cut off any attempts at conversation. Steve reluctantly turned back around in his seat, and while it wasn’t a promise that this conversation was permanently over, Henry would take what he could get.

If Steve had kept hammering away at him, he might’ve actually snapped and all the awful things he thought about the whole situation would come tumbling out of his mouth. Or, worse, he’d keep it together but would finally crack when he eventually faced Nancy.

An inaudible sigh pushed past his lips and Henry’s eyes drifted shut as that horrible truth presented itself to him; Nancy was going to want to talk about this.

Henry put his head down on his desk, too tired to care what anyone thought.

-.

**_Tina’s Halloween Bash  
_ ** _Come and get Sheet Faced_

Henry snorted a little at the stupid pun, but besides that he didn’t really react much to the painfully orange flyer he’d been handed on the way out of class. Usually, he’d feel at least a little thrill when he’d been invited to a party, especially a Halloween one, but right now he didn’t feel much of anything. He was too tired and stressed to really care about a stupid party, he guessed. And he knew that was probably a bad sign—not feeling anything about something that should make him happy—but he couldn’t even bring himself to care about that.

“You’re going, right?”

Henry looked up to see that Steve was keeping pace with him now, a hint of hesitation in his eyes. Henry knew why, that he wasn’t sure if things would be tense after everything that had happened before class, but he’d cooled off enough that he didn’t have to linger on it and was instead happy to move onto something else.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, looking down at the eye-offending orange again, “Probably not.”

“But, you love Halloween!” Steve exclaimed, sounding almost outraged. Henry frowned a little at that; he wasn’t wrong, not at all, but he wasn’t sure exactly how Steve knew that. He didn’t recall ever mentioning it, but he must’ve for him to be so sure of it, and Steve must’ve just remembered.

Henry finally just shrugged in response, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to come up with something to say after he’d realized that.

“Seriously, man,” Steve said, and when Henry glanced up after he nudged his arm a little, he saw that he was looking at him with a hint of genuine concern in his eyes, “What’s up?”

Henry felt his mouth go dry and he dropped his gaze down to the ground again. It shouldn’t surprise him that he’d noticed, Steve had a way of picking up on things like that and catching you off guard, like yesterday when he’d brought him coffee. But, it still made him feel funny whenever he was reminded that Steve… paid attention to him.

It made him want to tell the truth.

“I just—I haven’t been sleeping so good lately,” he finally admitted quietly with his eyes on his shoes. He didn’t want to say it, not really, but he just couldn’t bring himself to lie.

“Hey,” Steve said, placing a hand on Henry’s shoulder and stopping them in the middle of the hallway; forcing Henry to look up at him, “What’re you talking about? What’s wrong?”

The pair was facing each other now, and Henry couldn’t help but notice that Steve didn’t seem to give a damn about the students that flooded either side of them; his eyes were truly fixed on him. Almost like he thought that the answers he wanted would be easily found in his expression or something.

And Henry really, _really_ wanted to tell him.

He wanted to let everything out, and tell Steve exactly what had been bothering him for the past few days, and at the very least get some sort of comfort out of it. Because he knew that even if Steve didn’t understand, he’d try to make him feel better and, if nothing else, would want him to be okay. And, god, Henry wanted that _so bad,_ but…

He could be attracted to a guy all day long, but pouring his heart out to him—that was crossing a line that he’d already been so careful to avoid.

“Nothing,” Henry said, brushing off Steve’s concerns, “I’m just tired.”

Steve didn’t look like he particularly believed that, but before he could say anything, something pushed Henry to glance over Steve’s shoulder, and miraculously, in that quick second, his eyes caught on a lifeline that would get him out of this conversation.

“There’s Nancy and Jonathan.”

Henry’s ploy was obvious and he knew it, but he didn’t care so long as it took Steve’s attention off of him. It wasn’t like he was lying; Nancy and Jonathan were walking down the hallway that intersected with theirs, headed in the direction of her locker.

Steve gave him a funny look and lingered for a moment longer, like he wanted to push the subject a little more, before he broke away and his attention shifted.

Even though that was exactly what Henry wanted, he still felt a pang in chest when he realized Steve wasn’t concerned with him anymore.

A soft sigh passed his lips while he watched Steve run over to Nancy and lift his unsuspecting girlfriend up into the air. He couldn’t quite hear what they were saying to one another, but he didn’t really care.

Most of the time, he could put up with it—smile and pretend like it didn’t bother him just a little bit. But, he was already dangerously close to reaching the limit of stuff he was willing to put up with today and it wasn’t even ten yet. Besides, once Nancy got wind of the conversation they’d had before class… Henry just didn’t see much of a point in dealing with Nancy and Steve being gross when he knew she’d just bring up a topic he’d much rather ignore.

So, maybe it was best to steer clear of her _altogether._ He knew it was foolish, but maybe if he avoided Nancy for the rest of the day, she’d forget all about it by tomorrow. Or, at least, not see a reason to talk about what had already happened. It wouldn’t work, he knew it wouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but want to try.

When he caught Jonathan’s eye and they walked away from the couple without saying a word (as they’d done quite a few times before), Henry knew that he was only delaying the inevitable.

-.

“Will’s going in today.”

Henry paused, his sandwich halfway to his mouth, as those words hit him.

After a second of processing them, he looked over at Jonathan, but he kept his eyes firmly on the photo he was developing. Henry didn’t call him out on it—Jonathan chose to bring it up in the darkroom for a reason, rather than when they were walking the brightly lit halls, and he couldn’t hold that against him.

“Yeah, I know,” Henry finally replied, his voice soft.

“Mom hopes Owens will help him with his hallucinations,” Jonathan expanded, his voice barely a mutter but more than loud enough in the near silence that surrounded them, “They’re getting worse.”

Henry sighed a little, but he didn’t say anything. He knew Jonathan didn’t want false positivity, so he didn’t offer it, and instead just considered what he’d said.

He knew that Will’s visions were getting worse, more frequent. Of course he knew; even if Joyce hadn’t talked to him about it, he would’ve seen it for himself. They were ramping up and… and the toll they took on Will was getting worse. It made sense why Joyce was hoping that Dr. Owens might be able to figure out what was going on and at least make it a little bit better (he bet that none of them were optimistic enough to think he’d actually make it go away). But, at the same time…

Henry just couldn’t trust anyone who worked at that lab.

Maybe they were different, they sure claimed to be, but after everything that had happened last year, _anyone_ affiliated with the government set off warning signals in his mind, especially someone as close to it as Owens. He’d never even met the man, but his skin would crawl whenever he was mentioned, no matter how nice Will or Joyce said he was. He didn’t trust him, and he doubted he ever would. But, he supposed it didn’t really matter what he thought, it was up to Joyce, and he couldn’t exactly blame her for turning to him when things were getting so worrying.

“Bob’s coming over tonight too,” Jonathan said, breaking Henry’s train of thought, and this time he finished his bite, more to hide his smile than anything else. He knew he didn’t hold them at quite the same level, but it didn’t surprise him that Jonathan had thought of having to see his mom’s boyfriend while he was already feeling upset about his brother.

“Movie night, right?” He asked, getting nothing more than a grunt in response.

Henry knew why Jonathan had a problem with Bob Newby. He was a completely average guy; very surface-level with not much to point to him being anything more than the dorky, somewhat oblivious, but genuine person he came across as. The kind of person Jonathan had a nasty habit of looking down on. But, Jonathan was his friend, and even if Henry thought Bob was a nice man and that it was good that Joyce was happy with someone, he wouldn’t outright say to his face that he was acting like a baby about this.

“How about _Suspiria?”_ he said instead, “Bet Bob would _love_ that.”

He watched to see if Jonathan appreciated his joke, but very quickly he realized he might not have heard it at all; Jonathan’s eyes were glued to the photograph he’d clipped to the lines hanging above him, and Henry followed his gaze to see Will. He was sitting at the kitchen table, with what looked like all of his art supplies scattered around him, and his eyes were turned down with a concentration that Henry suspected meant that he hadn’t noticed that a picture was being taken. Jonathan lingered for a moment longer, looking at the photo, and even though he didn’t say anything, Henry recognized his expression. He knew they shared the same pain when they saw that deceptively simple picture.

“I’ll make it a double feature with _Eraserhead_ ,” Jonathan said, finally turning away from the photo and back down to the others still developing.

But, Henry didn’t break away, and instead his eyes remained fixed on the image as the ache in his chest was slowly drowned out by a new feeling. One that hurt less, but made him feel worse. All he could think about was the boy just a few miles away, trying to find some sort of relief from the pain in the very lab where this had all started.

“Round it out with _Possession,”_ Henry finally murmured, more out of instinct than humor, and a shiver ran up his spine.

-.

That horrible feeling inside of him had dulled down to something manageable by his last period, which was good because Trig didn’t need any help to make Henry feel awful.

Class hadn’t even started yet and he already felt defeated. He frowned down at his notes, not feeling like he particularly understood any of it, and resigned himself to a horrible day of test prep whenever the next exam came around. Maybe he could study with—

Damn it.

He’d been doing such a good job of ignoring it.

Henry kept his eyes down on his paper, but now he was uncomfortably aware of the girl that sat directly to his right. The tension there hung heavy, but it was possible he was the only one who felt it. It wasn’t like he’d ignored her, he’d smiled when she’d walked by him to her desk, but he’d turned his attention to his notebook with enough concentration that he’d hoped dissuaded her from trying to talk to him.

“So, I was talking to Steve before class...”

But, then again, when had anything ever _actually_ dissuaded Nancy Wheeler from something once she’d set her mind to it?

Henry didn’t reply right away, and instead kept his eyes steady on the paper in front of him as he resigned himself to this conversation.

“Yeah,” he finally said, his voice forcibly even—not asking for her to continue, just one syllable to keep it from seeming like he was giving her the cold shoulder.

“He said that he’d mentioned that we’re going to the Hollands tonight,” Nancy expanded, and Henry noticed that her fake casual tone wasn’t nearly as good as his; he could catch notes of frustration in her voice, and that only made it harder to reign in his own, “And that you seemed a little bit upset.”

“Did he tell you that I said that you two can do whatever you want?” Henry asked, a little too tight but not nearly as explosive as he wanted to be. He was doing his best to hold it together; if he just let himself go, he’d probably say something he’d regret. Although, he doubted it would be untrue.

“He said that he wasn’t sure if we should go,” Nancy replied, and he could hear how she was losing control of the way her words came out as well, although he wondered if the only reason she was holding back right now was because they were in public, and not because of him at all, “Because he didn’t want you to be mad.”

“How about the fact that I told him that I think we don’t need to talk about this? Did he mention that?” Henry said, looking over towards Nancy for the first time since this conversation began.

The two of them held eye contact for a moment, and Henry recognized the exasperation in her expression, which wasn’t surprising, but was a tiny bit infuriating. He felt like it was ridiculous to ask him to have perfect composure in this situation, but he knew Nancy well enough to know that anything other than poise would irritate her. Hell, he knew Nancy well enough to know exactly what had led her to acting like this.

Out of the four of them—the four that had spent that awful night together—there was no arguing that he and Nancy were the closest to traditional friends. That wasn’t that odd, seeing how there was no romantic tension of any kind between them, and because, well… They were the two that had lost a confidant during that terrible time, it only made sense that they’d turn to the other to fill the void.

So, of course they knew each other pretty well—they’d been through the same things, suffered the same losses—but, sometimes…

Sometimes it became apparent that there were a lot of things they didn’t agree on. That the way they were was very unlike the other. Half of the time, that didn’t really matter. Nobody was exactly the same, and some differences of opinion or outlook on life were just interesting. But, other times… Other times those differences weren’t quite so easy to swallow.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. He should’ve seen it coming, should’ve known that what had made him was very different from what had made Nancy, and been prepared to just deal with it. But… Henry couldn’t help but think that if the roles were reversed—if he’d lived Nancy’s life and she’d lived his—he still wouldn’t do what she was doing right now.

“Fine by me,” Nancy said tightly, breaking the silence and looking away first; her attention going forward to the chalkboard, even though the teacher wasn’t even in the room yet.

Henry looked away too, although he was a little slower about it, and he dropped his eyes back down to the blank notebook page in front of him. He was certain now that he wasn’t the only one feeling the tension between them, but he wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

Yeah, they were the closest out of the four of them, but sometimes…

God, sometimes Henry couldn’t help but feel like he and Nancy were a million miles apart.

-.

The golden sun shined just like it had the day before when the bell rang, but Henry didn’t linger.

Instead, he was quick to collect his stuff and head out to the parking lot; not even glancing around to see if any of his friends were on their way out too. Maybe that was because of those conversations between him and Nancy and Steve that left him feeling heated and frustrated, or whatever the hell had happened this morning with the new kid, or even just the lack of sleep, but the result was the same. He was in no mood to stick around and be sociable.

Or maybe it was just because he knew he had somewhere to be.

The diner (formerly known as Benny’s, and god didn’t his stomach twist when he walked in here) wasn’t busy yet, and Henry got his order pretty quickly. It occurred to him that this was the exact same thing that Steve had done yesterday, and he wondered if it made him uncomfortable too. He’d go somewhere else, but this place was five minutes away from his destination, and he couldn’t justify going out of his way to avoid a little bit of weird feelings.

He was early (he usually was, he knew he didn’t need to rush but he always did anyway), and the bench by the park—the one tucked in the trees and private because of it—was empty. Henry settled in and sighed a little; it wasn’t all that cold, but the chill was forcing him to acknowledge that either they’d have to change their spot or deal with the freezing temperatures soon.

God, he didn’t look forward to the winter. It was just another thing he didn’t want to have to deal with. Like the tension between him and Nancy when it came to the Hollands, or the hostility from the new guy who he’d probably have to see every day from now on, or whatever was going on with Will, or what he knew was making his chest hurt every time he talked to—

_Fuck,_ he didn’t want to think about that right now.

That wasn’t pressing like the rest, that was something he’d been trying to shut down for a couple of months, so he didn’t need to dwell on that tiny, _stupid_ crush—

Henry reached into his pocket with a little bit too much aggression and pulled out his lighter and a carton of cigarettes; he hadn’t been sure what would push him over the edge, but he’d had a feeling he’d need these and stuck them in his pocket before he’d left his car.

It would go away, he thought to himself as he puffed a cloud of smoke into the air, he just had to give it time. It wasn’t even anything special, he’d make out with Jonathan too if he asked. And if there was a little something more, then it was just because Steve was there and nice and attractive and clearly a good boyfriend.

A sharp strike of guilt jolted his system and Henry swallowed hard. It was bad enough to be feeling this about _Steve,_ but the fact that he was dating…

Here he was thinking Nancy was betraying him.

“Thought you said you were cutting back.”

A small smile made its way onto Henry’s expression before he even looked up, and even though it was tired and strained, it was still genuine.

“Cutting back is different from quitting,” he replied, nodding towards the coffee on the other side of the bench, “Got you one.”

“Thanks, kid,” Chief Hopper said, sitting down beside him.

It was quiet for a moment between the two men, both of them taking in the autumn afternoon. Neither of them were ever in any particular rush, it wasn’t like the world was falling apart right now, and even though Henry felt uneasy, he supposed that it wouldn’t make a difference if he spilled right this second or in a few minutes. Besides, it was a nice day; the kind to almost make you forget all your worries.

Almost.

“Good day?” Henry finally offered, his restlessness not allowing him to sit in silence any longer.

“Bauman came by,” Hopper replied, Henry’s gaze dropping down to his shoes, “Said he was certain there’s a ‘Russian child in Hawkins.’ One with a shaved head that could move things with her mind.”

Henry’s head jerked up and he looked over at Hopper with wide eyes.

“Recently?” He asked.

“No, he was talking about last year,” Hopper replied, Henry feeling his hope vanishing as quick as it had appeared, leaving him with a soft ache of disappointment in his chest, “Just wanted you to know.”

Now, without that small tinge of possibility, it wasn’t hard for Henry to slip back down into the bitterness that always found him when Bauman was concerned. He huffed a humorless laugh and kept his eyes on the cigarette between his fingers, even though he knew Hopper was looking at him now.

“That, what? He’s moved on?” he asked, finally glancing over but only to give the Chief a sarcastic smile, “Well, the Hollands sure haven’t. They avoid me like the plague.”

“Could be worse. Could be confronting you,” Hopper replied with a small shrug, his tone’s cool temperature a direct contrast to Henry’s shaky heat, “They’re probably embarrassed. They should be. They should be fucking ashamed.”

Even though his composure never wavered, there was something in that last sentence Hopper spoke that registered differently. A hint of something new to it that was undeniable. The coolness that had been present before turned cold, harsh, and unforgiving. Henry knew what it was, that it was the man that had made an appearance that day at the station, even though he hadn’t been there to see it himself.

_“I wouldn’t be too worried about it,”_ Flo had said with steady certainty after he’d finished his awful chat with the Chief, _“What happened in there is between the three of us and the three of them. He set them straight, and they’re not going to go spreading that ridiculousness all over town after that, I can promise you that much.”_

Then she’d given him a funny look, like she was trying to figure him out. Not in a bad way necessarily, but as if she was trying to see whatever it was that Hopper did that made him react that way he had. So, he might not have seen it, but he could imagine—Hopper must’ve been at the same caliber as last November to keep Murray Bauman and the Hollands from telling anyone that they suspected that Henry had done something to Barb.

_“Nine times out of ten it’s the boyfriend.”_

Just thinking about it made him feel sick with bitterness.

“How’s Will?” He forced out, switching the conversation to something else that made him sick, but with anxiety—he felt like he could deal with that better than this awful feeling.

Hopper definitely picked up on his obvious pivot, but he didn’t mention it and instead went along with him, sighing a little as he dug out his own box of cigarettes.

“Owens says it’s going to get worse.”

Henry’s head jerked up, and everything that had just been troubling him was forgotten in lieu of what Hopper had just said. He didn’t have to say anything, he knew Hopper wasn’t going to just leave it there, but even if he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to. Instead, he just looked at him with wide eyes and waited.

“Apparently these things get bad around the time that they happened,” Hopper explained, sticking a cigarette between his teeth, “Called it the ‘Anniversary Effect.’ It’s going to get worse the closer it gets.”

A sigh came out of Henry’s mouth without him really meaning to, and he leaned back against the bench as this new information slowly sank in.

“That.” He blinked once, “That makes sense.”

Hopper sent him a sideways look but didn’t say anything about his reaction, even though Henry thought he might’ve suspected what he was thinking right now.

“Way I see it,” Hopper said instead, “We get through these next few weeks, we’ll be… okay.”

“Yeah,” Henry agreed, his voice a little too quiet.

The conversation lulled, and Henry knew now would be the time to tell Hopper about how awful the past few nights had been for him—how he felt like he was slowly losing his grip on reality. But, the words that had seemed so clear and necessary this morning suddenly seemed obsolete. He didn’t need to tell him anymore, because…

“Kid,” Hopper said, and Henry looked up to see that he was already looking at him, “It’s not just Will. He’s got the worst of it, no doubt, but… We’re all on edge.”

Because Hopper had already given Henry the answer that he’d been looking for.

Henry nodded a little, but he didn’t say anything; he knew he didn’t have to. Even if Hopper didn’t know the full extent of what was going on with him, he knew he understood. And the rest of this meeting could be spent in the comfortable silence they both liked until one of them recognized that they had to get back to the rest of the world, because now Henry understood too. All of it. The nightmares, the awful feeling in his stomach, the— God, he’d hated January ever since he was thirteen, why hadn’t he put that together?

The Anniversary Effect had been behind all of that pain, hadn’t it?

Those nightmares and feelings of foreboding weren’t because there was anything coming, but because they _had_ come around this time last year. And that _sucked,_ but… it was also a relief. It was just leftover trauma, nothing new, nothing that posed a threat. He didn’t have to do anything but just deal with his own jumpiness for the next few weeks, and he was already pretty damn good at that.

And, even though in the back of his mind he acknowledged that awful feeling he’d get whenever the calendar got back around to the first month of the year was actually very dissimilar to the ones that were plaguing him now, he didn’t really care. It was so easy to ignore now.

Henry took a good long sip of coffee and slouched back against the bench; feeling more comfortable than he had since those dreams started a few days ago. Hopper had given him all the permission he needed to take those feelings of foreboding and dark thoughts and just bury them deep down inside, until it was almost like they had never been there in the first place.

Even the ones that were telling him that ignoring it was a _bad_ idea.


End file.
